


Taking Aim

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-11 04:51:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3314672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Eighteen-year olds Bard and Legolas attend an elite sniper school. Both have ancestral expectations hanging over them, and both have a lot to prove.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nothing Exceptional

Chapter One

 

‘Six feet… just under six one.’  
Bard stepped away from the measure and tried not to smile. The cut-off was five eleven. He put his arms out to the sides. The nurses measured the length of his arms, hands, the breadth of his shoulders.  
‘Standard-issue, nothing exceptional.’  
‘First Class?’  
‘I don’t see why not.’  
Bard kept his mouth shut.  
The doctor looked up from his notes at the young man. ‘Forgive all the measurements,’ he said. ‘We don’t get many people… like you.’ He had the good grace to look away.  
Bard knew what that meant. 'People like you' meant people from Lake Town. Hardly anyone from the town of fishermen and bargemen made it into the academy, and even in Bard’s family there had been no one admitted since his great-grandfather, Girion. Bard gave the doctor a polite smile. He knew better than to rise to the insult.  
The examination complete, Bard pulled his clothes back on. In the mirror he could see his dark hair, falling past his shoulders, wanting tying back up. His body was a mess of scars and lines from adventures and misadventures on the water with fish-hooks and wire. His hands were coarse, but still sensitive enough to work a hair-trigger. He had trained for admittance as long as he could remember.  
‘First Class, since you’re eighteen,’ the physician said, putting a folder of papers on his desk for Bard. ‘It’s the new recruits, you’re only a week behind – you’ve missed orientation, but I expect you’ll find your way around easily enough.’  
‘Yes, sir.’  
‘Did you complete a sharp-shooter test?’  
‘Yes, sir. Last week. We – we can’t compete in the Mirkwood trials, so I had to- I waited for the examiners to come to Lake Town. Sir.’  
The doctor nodded. ‘That explains the delay. Well, I expect you’ll get on fine.' He handed Bard the papers. ‘Good luck.’

*

‘This is highly unorthodox,’ the trainer flicked through Bard’s papers. ‘I don’t usually accept late recruits.’  
Bard could hardly explain that his late admittance was not his fault. ‘Yes, miss.’  
She pulled a face. ‘Still, there’s no denying your skill.’ She picked his score sheet out. ‘Who taught you?’  
‘My da. Miss.’  
‘Well, pick up your weapon and get in formation. You’ve got a bit of catching up to do.’  
Bard snatched up the unloaded rifle and slotted into place at the end of the line. He glanced at the young man next to him and made a reasonable attempt to hold his weapon in the same way.  
‘Move your fingers around. You’re doing it wrong,’ the man whispered.  
Bard glanced up at him. The young man had long blond hair, and sharp eyes. He was slender, but Bard knew that his slight frame meant nothing in terms of his ability. If a man could raise a sight to his eye, he was deadly. Muscle and width only meant having more of yourself to hide. The blond man glanced pointedly down at his rifle. ‘More your hand to the left a little. Like this,’ he said.  
Bard did as he was told. ‘Better?’  
‘It’s a start. Why are you so late?’  
‘I’m from Lake Town.’  
‘Oh.’ The blond man blinked. Bard expected an eye-roll, or perhaps to be ignored. Instead, the man spoke again. ‘You can copy me, until you get the hang of it. She doesn’t like talking, so just try and watch.’  
‘Thanks.’  
They drilled in silence, leaning to move their rifles from their backs to their hands, whether they were standing, kneeling, lying in the grass. They had to hide where there were no hiding places, and look through their sight whilst their faces were in the mud. Bard was shouted at twice, but quickly learned to correct his movements. He had no time to get things wrong – the rest of the class was so advanced. The young man next to him was shockingly quick. His lithe limbs pressed flat to the ground, and despite his bright hair and eyes, he hid himself invisibly when they were asked to get down. Bard copied him as best he could.  
‘Get your backside down,’ the man hissed.  
‘What?’ Bard twisted around.  
‘Your arse is in the air. Someone’s going to shoot it.’  
‘Well, you shouldn’t be looking!’ Bard tried to flatten himself further, but when he was asked to draw his gun, got the strap caught around his neck. He received his third telling off for that.  
At the end of the lesson, Bard had dirt on his face, a bruise on his leg from being stepped on, and his fingers were buzzing with cold.  
‘I’m destroyed,’ he sighed, putting his rifle back into the box with the others. The blond man placed his weapon in carefully. He shrugged.  
‘You’ll get used to it. I was the same a week ago. Well,’ he smiled, ‘maybe not exactly the same. So… you’re a Lakeman?’  
‘Yeah,’ Bard checked his splitting knuckles. He noticed several other young recruits turn to give him a once-over. No need to worry. Friends were not part of academy training. If you got one, it was a luxury. The blond man was standing patiently, waiting for him to speak. Bard settled on the obvious. ‘And you’re from Mirkwood, aren’t you?’  
‘How can you tell?’  
‘Just your accent,’ Bard lied. It was the long hair, fine clothes and good looks that gave the young man away.  
‘Oh, really? My father tells me I have a common mouth. I should speak correctly, he says. I am a disgrace to the family name, and so on. I cannot walk around drawling like he does all the time.’  
‘Maybe so, but compared to Lake Men, anyone’s tongue is like silk,’ Bard snorted. He ignored the complaints from the man about his father. Bard had no stories to jump in with. They headed for the mess hall. Bard’s stomach rolled in complaint. ‘Please tell me the food is good, at least?’  
‘It’s not bad. It depends what you like. I’m meant to be vegetarian, but…’ the blond man smirked, ‘what Father doesn’t know won’t kill him.’  
Bard laughed. He looked up at the young man. Their eyes met and they grinned at one another. ‘I’m Bard, by the way.’  
‘Legolas.’ They shook hands.


	2. Machines

Chapter Two

 

‘Are you shooting with your eyes shut?’  
‘Fuck off,’ Bard snarled, reloading. It was the second time that week he’d missed the bullseye. Luckily, neither of those times had been in class. They both happened in practice in free time with Legolas. ‘You’re a fucking distraction. Stand still.’  
‘No,’ Legolas deliberately gave a wave in front of Bard’s eyes. ‘What if you get distracted by a bird or something? Miss, give away your location and then-’ he put his fingers to his temple, ‘boom. Splat. No more Bard.’  
‘I don’t miss when I’ve not got sprites leaping about in front of me,’ Bard bared his teeth and fired, getting the bullseye. ‘See?’  
Legolas smiled and punched him on the shoulder. ‘That’s better. Here, let me have a turn.’  
Bard got off the ground and handed Legolas the rifle. He replaced his ear plugs as Legolas got onto the grass and settled into his usual flat position. His long legs were bent curiously, his back barely arched to support the gun. Bard had tried many times to achieve the same level of hiding, but he was nowhere near flexible enough. Legolas still insisted Bard’s arse would be full of bullet-holes one day.  
‘Should I sing and dance for you?’ Bard offered. ‘Try and put you off?’  
‘I never get put off,’ Legolas fired, getting the central black dot expertly. ‘I’m a machine.’  
‘Don’t be so modest,’ Bard snorted. ‘Anyway, you’ve got an unfair advantage.’  
‘And what’s that?’ Another bang, another clean shot.  
‘Well, you’ve been bred for this sort of thing, haven’t you?’  
Legolas rolled over on the grass and pushed his goggles up. ‘What?’  
‘You know… Your whole family, the whole of Mirkwood are good at this sort of thing.’  
‘I wasn’t born knowing how to do it.’  
‘Maybe not, but you’re built for it,’ Bard insisted. ‘I’m just a bloke… Just a man from Lake Town who happens to be good with a gun. It’s not an extension of me like it is for you.’  
‘This isn’t an extension of me,’ Legolas looked at the rifle. ‘Is it?’  
‘It kind of is.’  
Legolas sat up and put the rifle on the ground. ‘Is that really what you think of me? I’m designed to shoot?’  
Bard felt heat building in his face. ‘No. Well, you said yourself – you’re a machine. Right?’ He watched Legolas snap his goggles off. ‘Have I upset you?’  
‘I don’t know,’ Legolas said, eyes on the ground. ‘I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.’  
‘I didn’t mean it in a bad way.’  
‘I know. It’s ok, it’s just… I never thought that that’s what people thought. That I’m a one-trick pony. Cant do anything else.’  
Bard opened his mouth but no sound came out. He slumped on the grass next to his friend and shook his head. ‘I know you can do other things. I just meant to compliment you. I didn’t mean you’re nothing but a gunman.’  
Legolas clicked the safety onto the rifle and flopped back onto the grass. ‘It’s true, though. As soon as I could hold one, my father shoved one into my arms. Then it was practice, drilling… He wants me to join the royal household guard.’  
‘That’s… quite an honour to aim for,’ Bard said. He’d heard of the King of the Woodland Realm. His palace in Mirkwood only took on the best, most elite soldiers.  
Legolas’ mouth twitched. ‘It’s sort of expected. Family tradition.’  
‘Oh.’ They were both quiet, then. Bard picked a blade of grass. Then another. ‘Coming here is sort of tradition for me,’ he said quietly. ‘My da didn’t come here. But my great-grandfather did.’  
‘What was his name?’  
‘Girion,’ Bard flicked the grass away.  
Legolas raised his eyebrows. ‘His name’s on that trophy. The one near the mess hall.’  
‘Yeah. He shot down a Fire Drake.’   
‘On his own?’  
‘Mm.’  
‘Then you’re built for this, too,’ Legolas leaned up on a elbow.  
‘I suppose.’ Bard looked down at him, enjoying the sensation. He always had to look up at his friend. ‘There’s a lot of expectation.’  
‘Certainly is,’ Legolas gave a small smile. He looked as if he was going to say something else, then changed his mind. There was a breeze. Bard rolled his shoulders to hide a shiver.  
‘I’ve not told anyone else,’ Bard said. ‘About Girion, I mean. I don’t want them thinking I should be able to shoot down planes.’  
‘I won’t say anything,’ Legolas said. ‘I’m not exactly bragging off my family, either.’ He pushed himself off the grass and stood, eyeing the targets. ‘Did you want to carry on practicing?’  
‘No, the moment’s gone, I think,’ Bard said. Legolas offered him a hand. He took it, feeling the cool, steely fingers grip him around the wrist before he was pulled to his feet. He staggered, bumping off his friend. They both stepped backwards, quickly. Legolas let go of Bard a second later.  
Bard resisted the urge to touch his own wrist. ‘Er –’  
‘I have to write to my father,’ Legolas interrupted. ‘I forgot to do it last week.’  
‘Yeah, we both have stuff to do,’ Bard nodded. ‘I’ll see you later.’ Bard snatched up the weapon and headed in one direction as Legolas headed in the other. He wanted to glance back, but kept his eyes on the path that lead to the academy.


	3. Heirlooms

Chapter Three

 

One year in, and the dorm rooms were reshuffled. Bard and Legolas were moved into the same room after Legolas had a word with the man making the draws. Bard hulked his bag into the twin bedroom, Legolas watching from his position lounging on his bed. He had his hands behind his head, his long blond hair plaited out of his face. Bard’s own hair was falling into his eyes as he pushed his belongings into the room.  
‘Thanks for your help,’ Bard sniffed, kicking his bag over towards his bed.  
‘You’re a big strong man,’ Legolas rolled his eyes. ‘You can manage.’  
Bard started taking his things out. ‘Was this your room last year?’  
‘Yeah. I didn’t want to move.’  
‘Who’s that?’ Bard pointed to a photograph on Legolas’ desk. The blond man sat up and looked. He pulled a face.  
‘That’s Tauriel. My… friend.’  
‘Girlfriend?’ Bard raised his eyebrows. Legolas had never mentioned a girl. He squinted back at the photo of a younger, grinning Legolas with shoulder-length hair, his arm around a laughing girl with reddish-brown hair and dimples. They looked about the same age.  
Legolas let out a puff of a breath. ‘No… not a girlfriend. Not really. I like her, but…’  
‘She doesn’t feel the same way?’ Bard guessed.   
His friend shook his head. ‘I don’t really know about that. But my – my father doesn’t approve.’  
Bard put his bundle of clothes down. He turned and looked at Legolas. His friend’s face was grey, and his lower lip was slightly out. ‘That’s… that’s shit, actually.’  
‘Yeah.’ Legolas glanced back at the photo. He seemed to shake himself, then swung his legs over the bed to face Bard. ‘It’s ok. It’s not exactly recent. We… me and my father, we kind of had a falling out before I came here. We’ve been civil since. I think he thinks I’m still a child, you know? Like, I’m nineteen for crying out loud.’  
‘Mm,’ Bard said. He hadn’t had the luxury of being a child since he was ten. ‘I think I know what you mean.’  
‘Sorry?’ Legolas raised his eyebrows.  
‘No, it’s fine.’ Bard picked more clothes out of his bag. ‘I, er…’  
‘What, Bard?’ Legolas was standing now.  
Bard dumped his things down and turned, wobbling back a touch. Legolas was much closer than he had expected. ‘Well, my da… He’s not well. We… our family, we own a barge. It’s not exactly safe work. And he had to contend with a lot of taunts… he hadn’t got into the academy, and neither had his father, and people were starting to say that Girion’s success had cursed our family. One day, his passengers-’ Bard stopped, his throat sticking.   
Legolas put a hand on his arm. ‘Go on.’  
‘His passengers were tormenting him. They put him off his steer. He hit some rocks and they all went overboard. They all got back on the barge, but my da… his legs-’ Bard’s eyes burned. He turned and brushed angrily at them. ‘Shit, sorry, I don’t usually-’ He stopped as Legolas’ arms went around him from behind. Bard tensed, his muscles going rigid. He didn’t receive hugs. Never. Especially not from friends. He tolerated the weird embrace, not relaxing into it and not running away either.  
‘I didn’t know, you should have said,’ Legolas said, letting go after a few moments.   
Bard sniffed. He turned back around. Legolas had taken a step back. ‘I don’t say. Not to anyone. Da taught me to shoot. He could still show me how to do that. But I had to work the barge at the same time. I fell in a few times. I got all the abuse, all the shit about Girion. The day I took the sharp-shooter test, I had all of Lake Town howling at me. When I passed… I expected it to get better. It got worse.’  
‘Worse?’ Legolas was staring at him with sad eyes.   
‘No one gets in, you see. No one from Lake Town comes here. You lot… You’re all so much better than us. Up in the Woodland Realm, in Mirkwood… You have it all, we think. The money, the advantages. We’re the lowly ones who buy your empty wine barrels. Most people in Lake Town, they dislike you by default. Me getting in here, was like betrayal or something.’  
‘That seems really petty,’ Legolas sighed.  
‘It is,’ Bard sat down on his bed. ‘And, when I graduate from here, my job’ll be to defend the town. So I’ll still be alienated. I won’t…’ he blushed and looked away. ‘I won’t even get to see you.’  
Legolas was quiet for a minute. Then he sat down next to Bard and put an arm around him. ‘I’ll come and see you. I want to stay your friend, you know. I don’t think of you as any lower or lesser than anyone else I’ve met. You’re… you’re my best friend.’  
Bard relaxed this time and leaned against Legolas. ‘You’re mine, too.’ 

 

*

‘Is that it? The actual thing?’ Legolas pressed his nose against the glass.  
Bard nodded. ‘Da had to sell it. When I first took over the barge. I wasn’t bringing in enough money and…’  
‘It’s beautiful.’ Legolas stepped back to admire the polished rifle, mounted behind glass. ‘The Windlance. Such a gun.’  
‘It’s huge. Too heavy for you.’  
‘I know, but still… It’s lovely.’ Legolas let out a sigh. ‘Do you still have the rounds, though?’  
‘Actually, yeah,’ Bard smiled. ‘Dad said they’d all been shot, but we have three left. Fat lot of good they are when the Windlance is locked away.’  
They both stood and stared at the display in silence.   
‘There are no more Fire-Drakes, though,’ Legolas said softly.  
‘True,’ Bard nodded. ‘Until something worse comes along.’  
‘It won’t,’ Legolas looked down at Bard. Their hands brushed. Bard felt something swoop in his stomach. Legolas spoke again. ‘And if it does, I’ll be shooting next to you. You know that, right?’  
‘Sure.’ Bard looked back at the display. The rifle gleamed.


	4. Resemblance

Chapter Four

 

‘I’m not going.’  
‘You kind of have to, though?’ Bard flexed his shoulder as he prepared to make an attempt at combing his hair. ‘You’ll get written up.’  
‘I couldn’t care less,’ Legolas snorted. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, an open book in his lap. ‘It’s not important to me.’  
Bard pulled at the comb that was stuck. ‘Why not? Isn’t he your king?’ He yanked on the comb and it gave way, minus a few of the teeth. ‘Everyone else seems very-’  
‘They’re all idiots,’ Legolas looked up and glared. ‘They don’t know anything about – about anything.’  
Bard turned. He felt like a prize pig in his new uniform, the tie constricting his neck and the shirt way too starched and stiff. Legolas was wearing a loose vest and sweatpants, his long hair unwashed and in disarray. Bard’s eyes flicked to a red bruise on his friend’s throat. The third one that year. ‘So you’re not coming.’  
‘No.’  
'I won't make an excuse for you.'  
'Fine.'  
'Fine.' Bard almost slammed the door on his way out.

*

Bard stood in his place at the end of the line, shoulders back, head held high. An inspection from the King of the Woodland Realm was unexpected and annoying. Bard’s teachers were less than impressed at the short notice of the visit, but their students were thrilled. This was their chance to showcase their skills to the King, and maybe get a chance of a foot in the door to work in the Royal Household Guard. Bard had no such hopes – as a Lakeman, he was not going to be chosen to guard King Thranduil.  
‘Bard,’ his tutor hissed when she walked down the line. ‘Where the hell is Legolas? You're his roommate - where is he?’  
‘He’s…’ Bard swallowed. His brain turned to water as he failed to think of words.  
‘Bard! Where is he?’  
‘He’s – ’  
‘Attention! Make way for King Thranduil Oropherion!’ the cry came. Bard’s teacher stepped back and stood to attention. Bard kept his eyes in front. He could not see the king making his entrance, but he could hear him speaking in a voice that was an octave deeper than his own.  
‘Ah, some familiar faces here,’ he was saying. Bard snorted. Of course the king would recognise the high-born members of Bard’s class. ‘Excellent, wonderful to see you boys again. Your father send his regards, young man. Goodness, how ever did you become so tall?’  
Bard stayed still, his face impassive. He stared into the blank space ahead of him, until it was filled by a sharp suit and expensive-looking tie and cane. Bard blinked. He did not raise his eyes, but noticed that the king wore his hair in the same long, loose style that Legolas and other boys from Mirkwood did.  
‘Is this your entire class?’ the king asked no one in particular.  
‘Yes, Your Grace.’  
‘Really…’ Bard’s face burned. King Thranduil had to be looking at him. ‘What is your name, boy?’  
‘Bard, of Lake Town, Your Grace.’  
The king made a surprised noise. ‘A Lakeman? But of course. I did not recognise you, so how could you be from my Woodland Realm? How are you finding your training, Bard of Lake Town?’  
Bard dragged his teeth over his lower lip. ‘Very good, Your Grace. I am working hard, and improving, under the instruction of my teachers,’ Bard looked up at his teacher, who was giving a faint smile of approval. When Bard’s eyes returned to their former stare, he caught sight of Thranduil. Bard’s throat pinched.  
Thranduil’s face did not betray his age. He looked anywhere between his twenties and forties, with eyes that were dark and piercing, but with an edge of kindness in them. He had golden-blond hair that was swept back from his face, rather than braided at the sides as the younger boys from Mirkwood had.  
‘Tell me, Bard,’ King Thranduil said, cocking his head on one side. ‘Is this your entire class?’  
 _Say yes,_ Bard’s brain screamed. He didn’t want to get anyone into trouble. Not his teachers and especially not Legolas. ‘Y-yes.’  
‘Bard,’ his teacher warned.  
‘Sorry, I mean, yes, _Your Grace_.’ Bard turned scarlet.  
The king waved a hand. ‘Your courtesies do not interest me, Lakeman. Look me in the eye.’  
Bard did as he was told, looking into those onyx eyes that burned into him, exposing his lies.  
‘Is this everyone?’  
Bard was about to answer when his teacher stepped in.  
‘Your Grace, we are missing one student. He did not come for role-call.’  
‘Obviously,’ Thranduil said acidly. ‘I shall expect an explanation.’  
Bard dropped his gaze again, relieved he hadn’t had to drop anyone in it. What he didn’t understand was why the king seemed quite so angry about one missing student. There were a few more minutes of standing in line as the students were inspected and then, finally, they were dismissed. Bard started his march at the end of the line, and almost made it out of the door to freedom when a cane blocked his access to the doorway. He stopped short of colliding with it.  
‘Bard,’ King Thranduil said, lifting the cane. ‘You knew of the missing student. And yet you were reluctant to explain his absence for him. Why?’  
Bard swallowed. ‘Because – because he is my friend, Your Grace.’  
Thranduil nearly smiled. His eyes glittered. ‘Friend?’  
Bard nodded.  
The king’s eyes ran from Bard’s combed hair, down his face, neck, smart clothes, down to his polished shoes. Bard felt undressed. Thranduil put a hand on his cane. ‘You realise you are a rare one. A man from Lake Town in this academy, that is. Do you know of Girion?’  
‘Yes, Your Grace. He shot down the plane – the Fire Drake.’ Bard chose not to say any more.  
‘Saving thousands of people. Can you hope to be his equal?’  
Bard nodded at the score chart pinned up behind the king. ‘Your Grace, I am fifth best in our class of fifteen at the moment.’ Legolas’ name sat smartly on the top.  
‘And this boy,’ Thranduil dragged a finger under the ‘L’. ‘Your ‘friend’. Will you best him, too?’  
‘I hope to beat him, if it comes to it, Your Grace.’ How did the king know it was Legolas who was missing?  
‘I have no doubt,’ the king smiled, his eyes back on Bard’s face. ‘You know, only those who end up on top can join my Household Guard.’  
Bard’s cheeks burned. ‘Your Grace?’  
Thranduil leaned forward, his nose a finger’s bredth away from Bard’s. ‘Tell your friend that. I only want those boys who are good enough. Only the ones on top can join me.’  
With a tap of his cane, Thranduil Oropherion swept out of the building, leaving Bard with a curious ache in his knees and a scratch in his throat.

*

‘Why weren’t you there?’ Bard demanded. Legolas was lying, freshly showered and in his loose shirt and boxers, on his bed, staring at the ceiling. ‘Christ, you’ve gotten our teacher in bother. And almost me!’  
‘I didn’t ask you to do anything for me,’ Legolas snapped. ‘Why were you almost in trouble, anyway?’  
‘The king noticed there was someone missing,’ Bard said, pulling off his tie. ‘He got really angry about it.’  
‘Obviously.’  
‘What?’ Bard stopped mid-way through unbuttoning his shirt. He leaned on his desk. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’  
‘Oh, Bard, get a grip,’ Legolas sat up. ‘The king only comes down here if he needs fresh soldiers, fresh men or to check on his property.’  
‘His property?’  
‘Me!’ Legolas snapped. ‘Fucking me, alright?’  
Bard stared. With wet hair that was more golden than blond, and pushed back and not braided up as usual, Legolas had the same fierce look that Bard had just seen – ‘Oh, what. You’re not… Are you?’  
Legolas pulled a face. ‘’Fraid so.’  
‘You’re a prince.’ Bard’s hand slipped off the desk. ‘You’re a fucking prince and you never said anything.’  
‘Why should I?’ Legolas swung his bare legs over the edge of the bed. ‘Because everyone tiptoes around a prince. Watches what they say. Doesn’t bother to get to know him. But you – you didn’t know and you still wanted to be my friend. Am I right?’  
‘Of course I want to be your friend,’ Bard faltered, not sure if he should be adding ‘Your Grace’ to the end of that sentence. ‘I don’t – you’re not any different, you know.’  
‘Liar. You wanted to say your courtesies just then, didn’t you?’  
‘Do you want me to?’  
‘No!’ Legolas stomped over. ‘I don’t! I just want you to see me as Legolas. Not Legolas Thranduilion. Just… me.’ He stood, looking helpless in front of Bard.  
Bard took him tightly around the wrist. ‘Hey. If you don’t want me to treat you like a prince, that’s fine. It’s less to remember, anyway. Look – I just wish you’d told me. I’d’ve been nicer to the – to your dad.’  
‘Were you cheeky?’ Legolas smiled and for the first time Bard saw Thranduil in his eyes.  
‘Not really. But I wasn’t super-polite.’ He was still holding Legolas’ wrist, he noticed.  
‘Good. He doesn’t deserve it,’ Legolas looked down at his arm. ‘You’re cutting off my blood supply, Bard.’  
‘Sorry.’ He let go.  
‘No, just…’ Legolas took Bard’s hand and held it properly, lacing his pale fingers into Bard’s tanned and scarred ones. He held their hands up, examining them.  
Bard could hear his heart beating. ‘Your dad… he said he only wants soldiers who come out on top.’  
‘That’s funny,’ Legolas said, dropping their hands, but keeping hold. ‘That’s exactly what I would have said.’


	5. Not From You

Chapter Five

 

Bard blinked. He wanted to speak, to make a joke back, but his throat had closed up and his lungs didn’t work any more. He glanced up at Legolas, half-hoping to see teasing in his look and a grin threatening at his lips. But there was only a weird gleam of sadness in his friend’s blue eyes and his mouth turned down slightly.  
Was he holding Legolas’ hand? Or was his own hand merely being held? Bard didn’t know.  
‘What – what do you mean?’ Bard’s mouth remembered how to work again. ‘What… what?’  
‘Sorry,’ Legolas sighed. He sniffed. ‘That was a terrible joke.’  
‘Joke?’  
‘Yeah, I’m not usually that cheesy, I swear.’ Legolas glanced down at their hands. ‘Are we stuck?’  
‘No,’ Bard said, too quickly.  
They both snorted a laugh. Then they were quiet. Legolas pulled his hand away.  
‘Do you want to move rooms, now?’  
‘What?’ Bard curled his empty fingers into a fist. ‘Why would I-’  
‘I don’t want things to be awkward-’  
‘Hey,’ Bard put a hand on Legolas’ shoulder. ‘It’s not. I mean, I don’t-’  
Legolas winced. ‘Can – can you not put your hand on me? I mean, I want you to, but if you touch me, then it makes me – makes me unhappy, because…’ he trailed off, biting his lip.  
Bard’s chest gave a twang. He put his other hand up, mirroring his first. ‘But what if I want to?’  
Legolas looked Bard in the eye. ‘What?’  
‘You heard me.’  
‘That’s… that’s…’  
‘That’s what?’ Bard almost snapped. He moved his hands around to Legolas’ back. Legolas leaned against the touch a fraction.  
‘Nice,’ he finished.  
Nice. That was such a terribly boring word. Bard didn’t think it was nice. It didn’t even feel weird or supernatural. It just felt normal. Legolas had hugged him once. Bard had stood like a statue and endured it. But he had missed the arms around him once they were gone. He had watched Legolas go out of an evening and come back with touches creased into his clothes. Touches Bard hadn’t had himself.  
‘No,’ Bard shook his head. ‘This,’ he pulled Legolas closer, parting his legs so they could both lean on the desk, Legolas as close to him as he could get. ‘This is nice.’ They ended up in an embrace that made Bard wish he was taller. Legolas’ head touched his own, their hair getting in each other’s eyes. Their chests fought for breathing space. Legolas’ arms were trapped by his sides as Bard had his arms wrapped around them. Bard’s backside was hitched up on the desk, one of his legs bent, raised of the ground. It was a mess.  
‘It is,’ Legolas agreed after a moment. He pulled his arms out and they arranged themselves better.  
They stayed still, soaking into one another. Bard was high on the physical touch. At the academy, he didn’t make contact with anyone. Even handshakes were replaces by salutes. Legolas’ hug, weeks ago, had been like trying a drug. Bard had withdrawal symptoms. He knew now that Legolas liked him. And that was fine. He didn’t care. He didn’t even care to think about if he felt anything like the same way back. He just needed to touch someone and be close to them. And Legolas had all-but volunteered.  
After at least a hundred years, Legolas let out a breath. ‘Do – do you think-’  
The door banged open and Legolas and Bard sprang apart as though they had been shocked.  
‘There’s a trial.’ One of the boys in the class above burst in, panting. ‘Now. The King –’  
‘He’s just done an inspection!’ Bard threw his hands up.  
‘I know, but he said something about the lists, and now everyone has to report-’  
‘Fine!’ Bard tore his smart shirt off and snatched up his green uniform. ‘The field?’  
‘Yeah. Sorry, mate. Both of you,’ the boy looked apologetically at Legolas, who nodded. The boy closed the door behind him. Bard pulled off his uniform.  
‘You should get dressed,’ he said, avoiding Legolas’ eyes.  
‘I can’t go.’  
‘Legolas…’  
Bard’s friend looked up, his blue eyes shining. ‘And what if I miss? What if I don’t come first? Bard – Bard, this is what he wants, this is-’  
‘Stop,’ Bard said. ‘You won’t miss. You always come first. You’re always on top. You’ll be fine. Show him. Show him what you can do.’  
‘I…’ Legolas shook his head. His yellow hair fell in curtains around his face. ‘Bard… You – you saw him. He only wants the best. And that’s – that’s never been me.’  
Bard stared. ‘But you are. You are the best. The lists – ’  
‘Don’t matter if I can’t perform this instant!’ Legolas shouted, wrenching his dresser drawer open so hard it came out of the unit and fell to the floor. Rolls of clothes spilled out. Legolas kicked the drawer. ‘Fucksake.’  
Bard just watched him. What could he say? That he’d throw the contest and help Legolas on his way to the top? There would be no point. Bard wasn’t even in the top three. He wasn’t a threat to Legolas’ position. Bard would just shoot as straight as he could and hope for the best. He was never going to be in the Royal Household Guard. It came back to him, then. Legolas had said that being in the Royal Guard was a family tradition. He wasn’t joking. He would be there, regardless. Bard would sit in the watchtower of Lake Town, staring over the rivers and mountains, waiting for nothing.  
‘Get dressed,’ he said slowly. ‘You’re got some showing off to do.’  
Legolas stopped, his trousers halfway up his legs. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’  
‘Nothing, I just-’  
‘So you think I show off, as well?’ Legolas fastened his button and put his hands on his hips. ‘Right. Thanks.’  
‘I don’t think you show off, I was just teasing you,’ Bard snorted. He checked himself in the mirror. Two minutes out of his smart clothes and he already looked like a Lake Town peasant again.  
‘Don’t. Please.’ Legolas put his arms through his green top. ‘I know you were just trying… But please. Not you.’ He looked at Bard, his head on one side. ‘I don’t need to hear that from you.’  
‘Then you won’t,’ Bard smiled. ‘I’m sorry.’  
‘It’s fine. Just… I’m not your prince, you know. I don’t… show off.’  
‘Then at least prove you can aim straight,’ Bard grinned. He made a shooting gesture with his hands. ‘Come on. You’ve got me to beat, after all.’  
‘Ha,’ Legolas stepped forward, his face cracked in a grin. ‘Like that’s a challenge.’ He went to punch Bard on the arm as Bard went to high-five him and they collided stupidly at the door.  
Their laughing faces were a breath away.  
Bard’s eyes dropped to his friend’s smiling mouth. Legolas was doing the same.  
Bard put his hand on the door handle. ‘Don’t want to be late for your dad.’  
Legolas’ Adam’s apple went up and down as he swallowed. ‘No.’  
Bard opened the door


	6. Heavy Weaponry

Chapter Six

 

Bard watched the first boy raise his weapon. He winced as the gun went off. His ear plugs muffled the noise, but the aim was off. The boy’s shot pulled to the left. The teacher, red-faced and spitting, pulled him off the field by the arm.  
Legolas’ face went tight. His hands balled into fists.   
To the right, King Thranduil was standing with a guard either side of him. The king was leaning on his cane, watching the display with interest. He had, in his hand, the performance list Bard had indicated before. Bard felt the bottom fall out of his stomach.  
‘Next.’  
Legolas stepped forward and picked up his rifle. Rather than walk straight to the firing range, he stood for a moment and checked the weapon over. He lifted it to his eye, aiming it, for half a moment, at the king before lowering it and adjusting the sight. Legolas then ran his hands over the gun, adjusting the safety and then, finally, picking up the rounds and marching smartly to the range.   
Bard adjusted the earplugs. Legolas raised the weapon. Bard never heard the shot, but he saw the paper fly from the target. A clear bullseye. Bard’s lips twitched. Legolas raised the rifle again. This time, no paper flew. He shot straight through the first hole, only raising dust. Bard tensed.  
It was as though Bard was seeing Legolas for the first time. He’d seen him shoot before, often. But not like this. Legolas usually stood softly, his legs almost bent at the knee, his gun raised lazily – like he did it every day and never missed. Which was true. But this was different. Legolas stood like a solider. His shoulders were rolled back, his legs parted. His hair blew back in the slight breeze like a blond curtain. Legolas’ muscles strained against his uniform, once perfectly fitted, now too tight on the arms. Bard’s throat hurt.  
A third shot, this one making dust fly as it glanced slightly to the side, but still hitting the bullseye. Bard wanted to applaud. Legolas lowered his gun and raised his goggles. He gave a short bow to the king and walked over the put the weapon back down. He fell into place next to Bard.  
‘Told you,’ Bard breathed under his breath.  
‘Shut up.’ Legolas was almost smiling.   
‘Next!’  
Bard cleared his throat and stepped forward. His fingers only touched the gun for a moment.  
‘Wait.’ King Thranduil folded his sheet. ‘Perhaps something else…’ he indicated to his guard, who shrugged off their rifle. The guard stepped forward and offered it to Bard, who stared.  
‘Your Grace,’ Bard’s teacher said slowly, ‘our First Class students have not yet been taught to use-’  
‘Oh, it is a little heavy, I grant you,’ the king smiled, his head on one side. ‘But have you not noticed? This Lakeman might not be as tall as his colleagues from my Woodland Realm, but he is wider, and no doubt stronger. Give him a try?’  
Bard glared at the weapon in front of him. Though nowhere near the size or weight of the Windlance, it was much bigger than the slender rifles they used for practice. He didn’t take it.  
‘If Your Grace wishes to give all students a trial, at least let Bard shoot with the weapons he has trained with.’ The teacher folded her arms.  
‘Of course,’ the king beamed, ‘but first, this one.’  
The teacher glanced at Bard. He looked back, unsure. Teacher nodded, once. Bard picked the gun up out of the guard’s hands.   
It was heavy. And big. The whole set-up was wrong. Bard’s hands didn’t know where to go. He wanted to ask his teachers, or Legolas. Bard glanced behind him. Legolas’ eyes widened slightly. Was he trying to silently tell Bard what to do? There was no way of knowing.   
Bard walked to the range. He lifted the weapon, testing its weight. His hands found places to rest that felt more or less correct. He waited for the target paper to be replaced. When it was, he attempted to take aim.  
The first shot was, without a doubt, the worst of Bard’s life. The kickback from the weapon made Bard almost lose his footing. He staggered and saw that the shot had blown a gaping hole in the target, way off the centre. Bard was grateful for his earplugs. No doubt that it protected his eardrums from certain explosion, but also he couldn’t hear the laughter he assumed was behind him.  
Bard adjusted his stance. He raised the gun again. Propping it against his shoulder. This time, the kickback was expected. And the gun blew the paper apart.  
There was no way of telling if Bard had hit the bullseye. The target was obliterated. He stayed still, the weapon raised. Someone ran out and replaced the target. Bard shot again. The paper blew into bits. He lowered the gun. Three shots. That’s all. He looked to the side. His teacher was standing rigid, her hands clenched around her elbows. The king was grinning like he was enjoying some enormous private joke. Bard reached up to take his earplugs out, expecting woops and laughter. There was nothing.   
‘I hardly think we need to see anything else from… Bard, is it?’ Thranduil smirked. Teacher nodded.   
Bard walked over and handed the weapon back to the king’s guard, who nodded. He turned to fall back into place next to Legolas, but Thranduil’s hand clamped down on his shoulder from behind.  
‘This Lakeman needs moving up to the Second Class.’  
Bard’s mouth dropped open.  
‘Your Grace, Bard is only nineteen-’  
‘Regardless, with some instruction he will excel in heavier weaponry,’ the king interrupted. ‘Move him up. Out of the First Class.’  
Bard looked at Legolas, whose face was a mixture of horror and rage as he stood to attention. Bard’s insides seemed liquefied. He turned as was polite and gave a bow to the king, who inclined his head a fraction.   
‘I shall be taking a very special interest in your training, Bard of Lake Town,’ the king smiled softly.  
The students were dismissed. Bard had to wait with his teacher to fill in some papers for his new class, otherwise he would have missed it. Instead, he saw. He saw how King Thranduil grabbed Legolas’ sleeve as he marched past and pulled him close. Bard saw them hissing at each other through bared teeth, the king clearly gaining the upper hand. Legolas’ blue eyes were shining and he glanced at Bard once. He looked pleading. The King straightened up and waved his son away.   
Legolas marched part his father, and past his friend so rigidly Bard was afraid he would snap. Something in Bard’s chest cracked.


End file.
